Time is like the sea;
You can only hold a little in your hands.
As hard as you may try,
It always slips through your fingertips.
And after it has trickled away,
It leaves its watery mark:
A salty island outline,
Around the palm of your hand;
A bridge across a gorge
Nearing paths of unpromised lands;
A wispy grey hair, a wrinkle,
A scar or eyes with newfound twinkle.
These moments we share together,
I would very much like to treasure.
So if I could simply bottle-up,
Just a wee bit of that
Romantic briny sea.
What a delight to undo the lid,
On a despondent afternoon-
To smell the salt, our memories,
Taking me back to when you made me swoon.